Page 101 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“Do not try to move too much. You must rest,” he urged, brushing his thumb across her hand. “You had me worried, my Lady.”
She smiled. “I was Henrietta a moment ago.”
“No matter what I call you… you are my dearest love,” he confessed, his voice catching in his throat. Tears glittered in his eyes, though they did not spill over. “I thought I had lost you back there. When Gerome tried to kill you, I thought my heart would break. I could not stand to lose you, when I have only just found you. The woman who has brought joy back to a formerly grim world.”
“You saved me,” she murmured.
“Even then, I sensed you slipping through my fingers. I think the heavens were smiling down on us, for had I not taken hold of your gown… well, I do not like to dwell on it.”
She chuckled softly, her throat raspy. “You are much too gloomy, my Lord Marquess. I am alive, and you are beside me. What is there to be morose about?”
“You almost died.”
“But I did not.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “How can you see the good in everything? How is possible after what you have endured?”
“There is no use in bearing grudges,” she replied. “We have both seen where that can lead. We must count today as a blessing, for our hearts are beating, and we are young and healthy.”
“Some of us being healthier than others,” he teased, lifting her hand to his lips.
“My lips do ache, my Lord.”
He chuckled. “Is that so?”
“Oh, they are terribly painful.”
“Well, I had best avoid them then.”
She pulled a face, which only made him laugh harder. She liked the way he laughed—he was so much more handsome when he was in good spirits, his eyes twinkly and full of vitality.
Slowly, he leant towards her, pressing his lips to hers in a tender kiss. His thumb brushed the apple of her cheek as he kissed her again, before pulling away. A pleased smile remained fixed upon his face. Indeed, she found one upon her own lips, for though she had suffered much, she had awoken to her dear love by her bedside. There could be no better feeling.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“As though I came face-to-face with death.”
“May I fetch you anything?”
She shook her head stiffly. “No, I am quite happy for now. Although, what time is it? My last memory is of darkness, and yet, there is sunshine streaming in through the windows.”
“You have been asleep for a long while,” he explained. “It is the afternoon after the ball. I brought you back, though you were unconscious at the time. A physician has been and gone, but he does not think there will be any lasting damage.”
“That is good to hear.” She paused. “And where did my father go? He was on the bridge, was he not?”
Ewan nodded. “He was. When Gerome released his grasp on the rope, he attempted to escape. Your father and I chased after him and apprehended him in some nearby woods.”
“You know… I rather feel sorry for Gerome. He must have had such a terrible childhood, and to have that much hatred in his heart—he must have suffered a great deal.”
Ewan stared at her. “You cannot be real. Surely, you are an angel that has been sent to make us all feel inferior in our judgments. How can you pity him, after what he did to you?”
“He never knew love,” she explained simply. “He does not know the meaning of it, and that is tragic in itself. To feel so abandoned and to have no mother to care for him… it would be enough to send anyone towards the brink of insanity.”
“You are remarkable. Truly remarkable.”
Henrietta giggled. “What happened to him?”
A sad look crossed Ewan’s face.
